Page 17 of Unforgivable Sins
Her hands are crossed over her stomach, one hip pushed out, as she stares at me with none of the concern or desire I saw in her eyes the night I fought with my brother. She’s a mask of coldness now and it’s shocking to see. It is just a mask though, it’s not who she is, not really, but it’s still a shock to see. And I don’t fucking like it.
Her voice betrays her. It shakes on the way out, the only small piece of emotion she lets slip. “I see it in the way you look at me. The way you’re looking at me now,” she gestures to my rigid stance.
She has no idea what I’m feeling is the exact opposite of hate. Or is it? I have so much hate in my heart there’s not room for anything else so maybe it is hate. But is it her that I hate? Or the reminders of everything she brings with her? Is there a difference?
“And I just don’t understand why. You don’t even know me.”
I hear what she’s saying. I’m trying to process her words, how she’s clearly perceiving me right now and this entire situation, and I’m trying to understand it all. Not just her words, but how I do actually feel. When she’s not around, I have no fucking problem remembering why I’m so goddamn angry. I have no fucking problem being the monster that I am. When she’s not here.
But when she’s here…
When she’s here, I don’t know what the fuck to believe. I don’t know who I am.
So, we stand in another charged silence, facing off. Neither one of us moving. Neither one of us backing down. Neither one of us know what the fuck we want to do.
Another knock on the door interrupts us. Again, I’m relieved for the intrusion as I turn to answer it. It’s Tink. She looks just as amused as I do about everything as she holds up a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of ibuprofen in the other. She doesn’t say anything, just glares at me. I move aside so she can come in and give the items to Wendee. I don’t want any reason to have to get closer to her.
Tink’s eyes go to the rumpled bed and I don’t have to see her face to know she’s pissed. She probably thinks I slept with her, which in turn, will piss her off more than she already is. Tink is a lot like me when it comes to the main emotion in her heart, but she wasn’t always this way. She’s become this angrier version of herself because of me. I don’t begrudge her anger. After all, how would you feel if you spent the majority of your life watching the person you’re in love with fuck everyone else but you? No, I don’t begrudge her, but I also don’t understand why she’s stayed here, with me, and why she’s continued to be so loyal. Love is cruel and malicious. It makes people do the absolute worst things.
“Here,” she shoves the items into Wendee’s arms and then turns back around and marches back to where I’m still standing by the door. “What are you doing, Sinn? Why are you putting up with her? She needs to move the fuck on. She’s not fucking special and you need--”
My hand is around her throat, and she’s pushed up against the wall, feet dangling a good foot off the ground, before any more words can come out of her mouth. I hear Wendee gasp but I ignore it. She needs to see me like this. She needs to know exactly who I am.
“You would dare tell me whatI needto do? Who the fuck do you think you are to have such a right?” I’m squeezing her throat completely closed so there’s no way for her to answer and, since it was a rhetorical question anyway, I don’t need her answer.
My voice goes low and deep, my anger is barley being contained as I lean in and growl, “You were no one when you came here and I can make you no one again. I can make you disappear with a snap of my fingers, Tink, don’t ever fucking question me or push me, ever, again,” I bite out each word.
I make sure she sees the hate and the warning in my eyes as I look into her wide, scared, yet defiant, eyes. She’s never once done anything to go against me, and I don’t think she will now, but she needs to know I won’t tolerate her even thinking about it.
Her eyes start to water as they stare back at me, and I’m satisfied that she understands the threat. I slowly lower her down and the second her feet touch the floor she’s wrenching out of my grasp and stomping away as fast as she can go without outright running.
I grind my teeth and pop my neck, easing some of the tension in my head and shoulders before I turn back to face Wendee. I’m not sure what exactly I expected to see in her expression, but she’s back to giving me a blank face.
“I’m gonna go,” she says coolly, setting down the glass of water and pills on the nightstand.
“You can’t walk home at this hour and in this,” I gesture both to her outfit and to her intoxication, “state. You can stay here, take the pills, drink the water, and get some rest. You can go home once you’re feeling better.”
She shakes her head and walks toward the door. The door I’m still standing next to. She stops in front of me and pulls her head back to look at me. Even in her tall ass heels, the top of her head barely reaches my chin. The next thing I know, her hand is coming up towards my face.
I panic.
No onetouchesme.
Not even when I sleep with women, I always fuck them from behind so theycan’ttouch me. Theycan’tlook at me. My heart drops to my stomach and I instinctively reach out and wrap my hand tightly around her wrist.
“Don’t,” I growl.
She gasps again at the sudden forcefulness and then her eyes stare at my hand where it’s holding her wrist in front of her face. My blood-stained hand.
“That’s blood,” she says quietly. “Last night was real. What I saw,” she swallows, “was real.”
I don’t say a word as she slowly pulls her eyes away from my hand and back up into my eyes. This time, I absolutely expect to see her fear, maybe even disgust. Nothing could have prepared me for what shines through her eyes.
Gratitude.
Her green eyes sparkle through the tears forming in her eyes and then one lone tear escapes down her cheek. I swear I feel my heart studder at the sight of that tear. The gratitude and the tear, they don’t make any goddamn sense. I’m so damn taken aback, so shocked and focused on her eyes, that I don’t even realize she’s leaned in and is tiptoeing, struggling to reach my face, and then I feel it.
The barest touch of her lips against my cheek, dangerously close to my lips. Just a whisper of a kiss, nothing more, and yet I felt it rock through my entire body. A pebble being dropped into a calm and unsuspecting pond, no matter how small, will still cause a ripple effect. She’s the pebble and I’m the fucking pond. Except I’m not a goddamn pond. I’m the motherfucking rioting ocean. I’m the beast of an iceberg that sank the fuckingTitanic.